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The Gilded Lily is a classy operation, all black and gold with silver trim and emerald accents. “So, I approve,” Phyr says as they approach, “But this is way too damn fancy.”
“It’s a VIP lounge,” Alice reminds him. “You’re supposed to feel pampered, not gruff.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do they have to call it out like that, though,” Vector asks. “It just seems too on the nose.”
“Lampshade it all you want,” Alice says with a shrug, “It caters to its clientele. And Edric nobs a lot of hobs with some big fuckin’ wigs. You wanna go somewhere else?”
Phyr looks around, now within arm’s reach of the door. “How about the Muddle Puddle,” he asks, nodding down a flight of stairs to their left, where a painted wood sign hangs from an iron rod bolted over a heavy oak door. “I need a real fuckin’ drink.”
“Suit yourself,” Alice says. “I’m just along for the ride.” Vector adds a shrug, and they head on down.
Inside, the Muddle Puddle is on the comfortable end of rowdy, all brassy trim on varnished oak sporting Very Authentic Gouges™. Ale and juniper suffuse the air, and live music mingles with hickory smoke from the hearthfire. Phyr strides up to the bar like he owns the place, and hails the matronly orc barkeep away from her early afternoon jaw with an evident regular.
“What’ll ya have, dearie,” she asks with a wry grin.
“Got any whisky,” Phyr asks. Too late, he glances up at the signage, and realizes that he has stumbled into a mixology bar. Vector surveys the scene, and sees that everyone is very obviously grizzled, like they’re trying super hard at it, and the staff are only too happy to indulge the vibe.
“We serve 728 varieties of whisky, varying by age, nose, legs, cask strength, cask provenance, musk, and how much it tastes like socks. We index them according to double-blind Whisky Face reactions on a worldwide tasting panel. If you-”
“What do you recommend,” Phyr interrupts her.
“I always like a peach fleurtini,” she says in a cozy rasp. “Whisky infused with ripe, succulent peaches, and just a flirt of spring blossoms in the rain.”
Phyr wrinkles his nose, and says, “Fine, I’ll take one of those. Make it a double.”
“Ha,” she scoffs, “What’re you, seventeen? I’ll shake up a virgin for ya - it’s denatured, but a double ruins the bouquet.”
Phyr takes a deep breath and mutters, “Goddammit, Dee.” Then he sets his hands down wide on the bar, flares up his wings and armor, and bellows, “I am a thirty-five-” he nicks a glance over the clientele “-HUNDRED-year-old deity who has forgotten more about the birth of the Universe than a puny mortal like you could ever possibly learn! I have come from another world, where I am a learned scholar and healer - so by all the stars in Heaven, YOU WILL SERVE ME A DOUBLE PEACH FLEURTINI!”
The barkeep backs off half a step, eyes wide, and says, “Suit y’self, dearie.” She whips up the drink and hands it over. “How’re you payin’?”
“Edric’s got our tab,” he says, all the magic dialed back down.
“Wait, are you… Ragnarok, party of three?” He cocks an eyebrow and nods slowly. “Christ, I should’a known - I heard you were up at the Lily. Right, then - for you two?”
“Club soda and a wedge of lime,” Vector says.
“We’ve got-”
“Club soda and a wedge of lime,” he repeats firmly, “And I am in no mood at all to be more specific about that. Capisce?” She nods with a snort and fixes it up, handing it over and turning to Alice.
“Water, please. Flat, no ice.” The barkeep serves her with a shrug, then returns to her regular.
Phyr takes a sip, blinks a couple times, and says, “That… actually hits the spot.”
They find a clear table and sit down to enjoy their drinks. “Fuck’s sake, what a pretentious hole,” Phyr says after a second sip.
“I mean, it’s just a weird hipster bar,” Vector says.
“But why do they have to have such sticks up their asses about it?”
“Edric’s a businessman,” Alice says. “He wants to sell to every kind of taste he can. That means sometimes there’ll be a weird hipster bar.”
Phyr gives a sour look as he takes another sip. “I just wish I could get a goddamn drink without half-threatening to burn the place down,” he says glumly.
Alice takes a sip of her water, then sets her glass down firmly. “All right. Look,” she says. “I was on board with you at the security checkpoint. We needed to impress on those guys that this was bigger than them. But you did not need to be shitty with the barkeep, just now.” Phyr narrows his eyes and tries to listen as he sips his drink. “So it’s one thing to fight fire with, well, Phyr. But it’s another thing entirely to bring that Big Dick Energy when it’s not necessary.”
Phyr sets down his martini glass and says, “Why do you have such a ladyboner for politeness, anyhow? And the environment, and everything? All this is made-up in Dee’s mind, isn’t it?”
“No,” she says slowly, “This world is her mind. What you do here, affects her. Every good and kind thing you do, to a person or the world, helps strengthen her psyche and set her to rights - but every destructive or shitty thing you do, weakens her grip and works to unravel her.”
“Great, so Dee’s Jesus, and I’m the Devil. ‘Whatever you do to the least of these,’ and all that? Is that about the size of it?” Phyr takes a big sip as he rolls his eyes. “Thanks a lot, God.”
“Wait up,” Vector says, stirring the ice in his club soda. “The Devil isn’t always a bad guy - he just challenges God’s authority. Dee thinks that’s good. I remember her talking about LaVeyan Satanism back in the day-”
“Didn’t that guy turn out to be a Major League asshole,” Phyr asks.
“Sure,” Vector says, “But I don’t think she knows that yet, and it doesn’t affect the dynamic anyway. Point being, she learns from all that challenging, as long as you’re not too destructive in the process.”
Phyr thinks this over for a moment as he swirls his drink. Then he sighs, knocks the rest back, and says, “In that case, hail Satan.”
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